


come and bend

by sinequanon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 01:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: Peter and Stiles get taken by not-quite-hunters, and Peter learns to leave well enough alone. Probably.





	come and bend

**Author's Note:**

> I probably could have posted this in _witch's brew_ , but I didn't, for a couple of reasons: one, I decided to err on the side of caution and give this a "mature" rating; and two, the ending for this fic is purposefully (and maybe frustratingly) ambiguous.
> 
> The drugging in this story happens off-screen and affects both characters (though one more than the other).

Peter woke slowly. His body felt heavy, and the sounds in his ears were suspiciously muffled, like there was a bag over his head. It took more effort than he expected to pry his eyes open, and the spartan room he was in gave no clues as to his current location. He wasn't sure what had happened last night, but this most definitely not the loft.

The last thing he remembered was giving a too trusting Stiles a very expensive potion designed to make someone...amenable to suggestions. Not that Peter had planned to harm Stiles, but he suspected that the younger man was hiding something from the pack, and he wanted to know what it was. If asked, the human would deny any mischief, so Peter told himself that he was being proactive in defending the pack by discovering the younger man's secret.

If Stiles shared any additional information while under the potion’s influence, well, one could never have too much knowledge.

“Look who's decided to join us,” a voice purred, pulling Peter back to the present. A very ordinary, unassuming women stood before him, twirling an equally unimpressive knife. Had he been in better shape, the werewolf would have been aghast to have been captured by such a person. The only remarkable thing about her was the manic light in her eyes.

“How do you feel?”

He groaned in response, body sore, and she grinned. “That's the special wolfsbane mix; it has just the right ingredients to make you feel absolutely awful, to dull your senses, but not enough to kill you. Doesn't mean you won't want to die by the end of it, though.”

Peter paused in his self-assessment to glare at the woman. “Why are you doing this?”

“For research, of course.” Peter scoffed, and she frowned in response. “We're not hunters,” she defended, which, now that Peter was a bit more clear-headed, was obvious in the way she held her knife. “We’re not trying to kill anyone. We’ll even let you see your friend, you know.”

Something in her voice caught Peter's attention. “What did you do to him?” he snapped. He could just imagine what they could have made Stiles do while he was under the influence of the potion.

To Peter's surprise, guilt flashed lightning-quick across the woman's face before it smoothed out into the same placid expression. “He had an unfortunate reaction to the wolfsbane,” she admitted. “He is...not well.”

“He's human!” The wolf’s heart sank, because the woman before him might be insane, it was partially his fault if Stiles was sick. Wolfsbane wasn't good for anyone, wolf or human, but mixing it with the young man's earlier drink was potentially lethal. “Take me to him, now,” he snarled, trying to push himself to his feet.

“You seem to forget who is in charge here,” she pointed out, brandishing her knife at him. She didn't seem particularly concerned, though, which made her both insane and incompetent, and gave Peter all the more reason to get to Stiles as soon as possible.

“I thought you weren't a hunter,” he countered as she leaned toward him.

“I'm not. That doesn't mean I won't protect myself.” She pulled the wolf to his feet, and he was alarmed to find that his body, at least, provided no resistance.

She led him docilely down the hall toward another room where a man with a clipboard was waiting for them.

“I'm not sure this is a good idea,” he said, blocking their way. “I don't think he'll respond well to the stimulus.”

“The wolf won't hurt him,” the woman responded, ignoring Peter completely, “and the kid might find some comfort in what will likely be his last few hours.” She shrugged, seemingly oblivious to Peter's soft growls behind her. “Put them together for now. There will still be plenty of time to study the wolf later.”

The man still looked hesitant, but stepped aside so the woman could open the door and send Peter inside.

<> <>

Peter couldn't force himself to move.

Stiles lay on a tiny bed before him, sickly pale and barely breathing, while Peter stood there like an imbecile. He thought back to the last time he had seen Stiles, safe in his living room, watching the werewolf with wary eyes before he drank what Peter had given him with the promise of retribution if Peter should harm anyone else in any way while he was under the influence of the man's potion.

The memory brought a smile to his lips. Of course, Stiles would never threaten Peter for his own sake. No, he had drunk the potion because his thirst for knowledge was greater than his fear of the unknown, trusting that Peter would honor their pact of mutual understanding.

And Peter, despite what the others said about him, would have honored that trust. Usually.

But Stiles had been hiding something, and Peter hadn't liked that, so he had taken advantage of the situation (and Stiles) to get what he wanted. He had watched the young man's eyes get heavier and heavier, had seen his head fall uselessly against the back of the sofa, had heard his breathing deepen…

And then the werewolf had woken up in this place, with a deep sense of foreboding and a sick Stiles.

Peter's feet finally propelled him forward just enough for him to crash to his knees next to the bed. He cautiously touched the back of his hand to Stiles's forehead, only to hiss at the heat pouring off the younger man's frame.

The touch roused Stiles, and his eyelids fluttered opened barely enough for Peter to see the white of his eyes.

“Pet’r,” he slurred, “I don't...wh’ts...happ’ning.”

Of course he didn't, because everyone was taking advantage of him today, it seemed.

“Shh, shh,” Peter soothed, gripping the human’s hand tightly. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart, just rest.”

The young man's eyes fluttered shut again, and Stiles seemed to sleep for awhile. However, as his cheeks grew even more flushed, he started shifting restlessly and calling out for Scott or his father, and even his mother as time passed. Once, Peter thought that Stiles had called his name as well, but it trailed off into an incomprehensible mumble too quickly for the wolf to be certain.

Eventually, Peter shifted so that he was on the bed with Stiles nestled into the crook of his arm. It wasn't the most defensible position, but for the moment, Stiles's comfort was paramount. Peter gently pushed back the strands from Stiles's sweat-slicked face and threaded his fingers through the other man’s hair.

The human’s heart soared and lagged at uneven intervals, and Peter began to worry that Stiles would die before Peter had the chance to tell him not to.

“Stiles, wake up,” the wolf said eventually, jostling the other man just enough to get his attention.

“...wan’ sleep.”

“I know you do, love, but you need to wake up now.” By some miracle, Stiles opened his eyes, though they were too bright and glassy for the wolf’s taste. Peter had to stop himself from leaning down and scenting him, instead using his free hand to turn Stiles's face toward his own. “You're very sick,” he said slowly, making sure Stiles heard him. “Hunters...poisoned us. Some of the herbs they used, they seem to be extremely harmful to humans.”

Stiles's forehead wrinkled for a long moment, as if he was trying to work out what Peter had said. Then he mumbled out, “not jus’ human”, and dropped off again.

“What?” Peter asked, concern making his voice break. “Stiles, what?”

He shook Stiles gently, but the younger man barely whispered, “you’ll see,” before falling limp.

<> <>

Despite his best efforts, Peter drifted off a few minutes later, obviously still affected by the wolfsbane in his own blood. He didn't sleep very long, but when he opened his eyes, he found Stiles watching him with a strangely dispassionate look on his face. His eyes were no longer bright with fever, but dull with something that made the wolf in him still.

He forced himself not to look away.

“We will not let you damage him,” Stiles's voice said, strangely heavy in the little room. The words cut through Peter like a knife, and he barely held back a shiver.

“You seem to have already done that,” Peter said snidely, and immediately regretted it as the thing’s eyes narrowed and the hand in his squeezed hard enough to hurt.

“He cares for you,” the thing said, “and we honor his choice.”

Peter wasn't sure how, or even if he should respond to that claim, so he didn't. “I'm glad to hear it, but that's not really helpful at the moment. We're trapped here, and Stiles is dying.”

The knowing smirk that appeared on the young man's face was one that Peter recognized, and the werewolf wondered just how often he and the pack had dealt with the thing underneath Stiles's skin without their knowledge. “No,” it said simply. “He is changing. It won't be long now.”

An hour later, when the woman came back to check on the pair, she found the cell empty except for a few black feathers scattered on the floor.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem "Come Hither, Child" by Emily Bronte.
> 
> Next week: the final chapter in my Bleach fic, and one of my favorite (Gen, but could be considered pre-Peter/Stiles) stories.
> 
> See you then, and thanks for reading!


End file.
